


Someone to Hear Your Prayers

by Fudgyokra



Series: Kinktober 2018 [6]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: ...kind of, Anal Fingering, Derogatory Language, Dirty Talk, Hallucinations, Humor, M/M, Masturbation, Season/Series 01, Self-cest, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: He doesn’t remember why he thought this was a good idea.





	Someone to Hear Your Prayers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telveka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telveka/gifts).



> Here’s another Kinktober request, this time from a friend of mine! She wanted Ed and his hallucination from S1 messing around, so I delivered the best I could. Hope you like it. ;3c
> 
> Day 17: Masturbation* | Seduction | Collaring | Orgasm Denial

Ed hasn’t felt so out of touch since Kristen died. His fingertips buzz with the thrum of his heartbeat, making him itch to move or do something other than what he’s actually doing, which is sitting on the corner of his meticulously-made bed, staring down at his fingers as they twitch against his thigh. It’s pale and bare, like the rest of him. He doesn’t remember why he thought this was a good idea.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re gun-shy,” a voice says from somewhere behind him, oozing smug wit and a kind of self-confidence Ed only wishes he had. Technically he supposes he does, because the voice belongs to a mere mental figment, but when he turns to look he still isn’t used to the sight of his own face staring back at him. Not a reflection, just a mirage, created from some unyielding part of him that’s dying to be known as something other than the GCPD’s freak forensics boy.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” he mutters. The corners of his mouth tilt downward as the figment’s hands ghost across his naked shoulders and over his chest. Even if he isn’t real, he still _feels_ real, and that’s the part that betrays Ed’s shaken mentality the most. Or maybe it’s the way he moans when those unreal fingers pinch at his nipples, rolling the buds before giving them a firm tug. “Now, wait just a minute. I don’t think I gave you permission to touch me.”

“I’m part of your brain, idiot,” the alter-ego says, as if Ed needs to be reminded. “If I’m doing this, it’s because you want me to.”

“That’s ridiculous, because I don’t—” He stops halfway, ending on the blunt end of a sharp exhale. When he looks down, his own hands are groping at his chest, no reflective mimics to be found. Irritably, he tears them away, swiveling his head to glance around his empty bedroom. This really wasn’t a good idea.

Ed does it anyway. Slowly, he shifts his weight back, resting on his tailbone as he wraps long, bony fingers around his cock. For now, the dry friction is the perfect motivation, and he works himself to half-mast in a matter of seconds. The unscented lotion on the bedside table gets knocked to the ground in his blind fumble for it, and all of a sudden that damned voice is back, so close to his ear he actually leaps to his feet at the sound.

“Performance issues, huh? We’ve all been there.” The not-Ed gives a scathing laugh, then, “I mean, except me; I have everything perfectly under my control.”

Ed doesn’t know what possesses him to snap, “Then why don’t you prove it?” It occurs to him, belatedly, how stupid he must look speaking into thin air at a dreamed-up sex pistol version of himself. The man he wants. To be—of course.

“Sweetheart, I’ll prove it a million ways to Sunday if you keep touching yourself like that.”

He looks down at where his hand has absently migrated back to his erection, which twitches with interest at the barest contact. Stubbornly, he lifts his gaze again. “I’m not comfortable doing…that…with you here.”

“I’m always here, peaches. I’m in your—”

“Yes, yes, you’re in my head! I get it. Would you quit with the pet names?”

Not-Ed grins with wicked design and gets his palms on Ed’s shoulders from the front this time, persuading more than pushing him down on the mattress. “Do you want me to do it for you?”

Ed gives a scandalized “No!” by instinct but bucks his hips when his confident half slides onto his lap and begins gently rocking against him. The next thing out of his mouth is a soft, wavering breath, pinched at the end in desperation. When he opens his eyes, the figment is still there, trailing an idle finger down his chest and stomach. He’s bouncing rhythmically, which Ed can grasp is probably just himself jerking off, but the crazier side of his brain wants to hold onto this image, nonetheless. That doesn’t stop him from being contrary about it. “I don’t think you’re going to seduce me that easily,” he says.

“I think I already have.” And, true to form, Ed can see that he’s completely hard from all the rutting. Fine, then. If his brain wanted to play delirious, he could allow a sliver of a moment indulging it.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, scooting the apparition further back along his thighs, and twists himself around so he’s leaning all his weight on his shoulders, one hand curling around his cock again, the other slinking down to his hole, fingers in a V to spread himself open.  His other self hums darkly, impressed, but when Ed teases his rim with the tip of one finger, he finds himself being stopped by a hand tugging his wrist. “Lotion,” someone says, and he can’t tell if it’s himself of the other Ed. Either way, it comes from his own throat.

He scrambles for the bottle he’d previously knocked over and, in his haste, pours an unnecessary amount into his palm. “Wet and messy,” Not-Ed comments in a pleased drawl. “I like it.”

Ed breathes out a fangless “Shut up,” and then plunks back down, hips tilted invitingly. He sinks one finger in, all the way to the last knuckle, and finds himself already bucking back against it, wanting more. “Ohh, god,” he mumbles into the bedcovers.

“Doesn’t take you long to get worked up, does it?” By all accounts, the figment’s hands running up the backs of his thighs and then kneading his ass shouldn’t feel like anything, least of all feel pleasant, but Ed swore he could sense the touches as if he were really standing there doing things to him. Things including rubbing his cockhead purposefully over the rim of Ed’s hole. “I bet you would finish in seconds if you let me fuck you,” he observes, annoyingly casual. “I bet I could make you scream so loudly that you wake the neighbors.”

Ed says nothing, because he doesn’t have to. His brain and body are at least on the same page with how ridiculously turned-on he is, even if it’s suspiciously due to the sound of his own voice saying horrible, naughty things.

He feels extra thickness forcing his hole apart alongside his finger, sopping wet with lotion but warm to the touch. Involuntarily, he groans, biting down on a wrinkle in his covers for some semblance of control as his confident side takes him, rutting him open so easily, like they’d done this a thousand times before. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

There’s no time to respond before he pulls out and then plows back in, and Ed doesn’t unclench his teeth from around the blanket for fear he might scream. Heat overtakes his body, which rocks with every thrust, and it only cranks higher the more he was spoken to. “Yeah, I know it does. You like spreading your legs for me, little whore.”

The word sends shockwaves through him, pulling another unwitting noise from his throat, this time so intense he does let go of the blanket. He peers down between his legs, watching his cock bob, dripping a thin but steady stream of precum. Each pulse reminds him how close to the edge he already is, how much he doesn’t want this to end.

“Take it like you were meant to. You know how much you deserve to be bent over and fucked like this. How you deserve to be shut up every once in a while.”

Ed is panting by the time he reaches for his cock one last time, letting the glide of precum slick his path. At each slap of his fist against the base, he lets out a shaky moan, probably awfully close to bothering those neighbors his darker self had mentioned earlier.

“So close, so close!” He watches as he jerks himself until his hips twitch violently and he shoots cum all over the bed, squeezing his ass around the figment’s cock with a yell that’s halfway a curse, halfway a senseless sound. It comes out like, “Fuuuahhhh!” shouted at an embarrassing volume, but once it’s over and he can breathe again, he hardly cares if it’d awoken anyone.

One round of blinking to clear his spotty vision later, he feels an ache in his ribs and back from being down in this position for so long, as well as in both arms. He groans, ashamed, when he retracts the four fingers he’d managed to greedily squeeze inside himself and rolls over on his side. The insides of his thighs are still coated in lotion, a testament to how much he’d really used. The stickiness makes him cringe.

Suddenly, from the foot of the bed, the apparition says, “That was fun.”

Ed jumps. “Jesus, don’t scare me like that.”

“You’re going a little cuckoo, buddy. Maybe we should use it to our advantage.”

There’s brief silence where, unbelievably, Ed finds himself considering the prospect. Then, in a burst of anger, he waves the other off and stomps toward the shower with a definitive, “Not on our conjoined life, you creep.” And with an eerie, none-too-promising grin, the figment disappears into nothingness once again.


End file.
